


Second Chance

by libco



Series: Forgiven [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Pining Dean, Resurrection, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libco/pseuds/libco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The demon once known as Meg Masters wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pain. Burning. Screaming.

Nothingness.

_My Daughter. Child of Azazel. You have suffered enough. There is still work to be done. He needs you. You are forgiven._

The woman once known as the demon Meg wakes up and begins to scream.

 

She stares into the mirror, willing her eyes to turn black. Nothing. 

She makes circles of salt on the floor, walks in, walks out. Nothing.

She goes to a Catholic church. Dips her trembling fingers in the holy water, makes the surprisingly unforgotten sign of the cross. Nothing.

 

Pain. Burning. Screaming.

Nothingness.

Meg wakes up. It’s time, she decides.


	2. Chapter 2

Meg looks around the motel room she woke up in. Everything is in the leather duffel that was (conveniently) sitting in the room. She’s packed the practical (ugh) yet flattering clothes, the toiletries, the purse with appropriate (please) make up, money, and IDs. Meg Winchester they say. She laughs till the tears come. She walks outside to the compact (really?) car parked conveniently outside, the one that matches the keys sitting on the bedside table. She thinks about where she is supposed to go, wonders if she needs to research, and just knows. Kansas it is. “Kansas? Could it get any more god forsaken?” She pauses. “Oops. Sorry.” 

She drives until she knows she is where she is supposed to be. 

She knocks on a door and waits.

When the door opens she is surprised for a moment and then she isn’t. Of course she isn’t. 

She stares at them and Dean and Sam Winchester stare back.

“Hello boys.”

She laughs at their expressions. Both gaping like goldfish, Sam’s eyebrows rising practically to his hairline, Dean’s narrowing to slits. She laughs again, so predictable those boys. 

“Some things never change.” 

She takes advantage of their surprise and pushes past them through the door. 

“Wait, how did you just…” Sam’s voice trails off.

Dean’s voice is hard, “Mind explaining how you came in?”

She turns and looks toward Dean and the door, “Huh.”

She has walked through wards, sigils, salt, and a Devil’s Trap. 

“'Huh?' What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Dean shouts.

She knew. She knew, she had tested herself, but she didn’t truly believe. Until now. “Oh.” She says. Her head is buzzing; her limbs feel leaden, and the floor rushes up to meet her.

When Meg comes to she is lying on a couch, cushions under her head and feet, blanket tucked around her. Her arm is wet (holy water she thinks) and there’s a cut on her palm (iron knife?) She smiles to herself. My boys, she thinks fondly, sweet but suspicious. 

She hears raised voices and realizes they are talking about her in the next room.

“I mean how the fuck is she even here?” Dean exclaims.

Sam snorts, “It’s not as if anyone ever seems to stay dead around us.”

“But Sam. She walked through the wards, she passed all the tests. How could she? Do you think she could be?”

Silence.

She wonders what their faces look like now

They come back in and stare.

“What are you?” Dean asks bluntly.

She sits up quickly and her head begins to throb. She bites back a moan.

Sam rushes to the couch, concern written on his face, “Hey hey, take it slow, you hit your head pretty hard coming down.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

Sam glares at Dean.

Meg snickers. 

They both turn and stare her.

She thinks the head injury may be affecting her more than she thought. Head injury. Head injury.

“Head injury,” she forces the words past her lips. 

Sam looks at her questioningly, “Yes, you hit your head when you fainted.”

“Sam,” she hates that her voice sounds weak. She grasps his hand, “I got in the door, I fainted and hit my head, I passed the tests, I have a head injury.” Her voice begins to rise, she’s clutching his hand so hard it’s turning white, and she begins to shake. She looks down at herself, “Oh God, I can’t stop shaking.”

Sam (sweet Sam) pulls her in his arms and holds her close. 

Dean stands in awkward silence.

She sniffles in Sam’s chest. She must be crying. “You were always my favorite Winchester.”

Later, after her story has been told (several times), after food has been eaten, after they awkwardly offer her a room, Meg realizes what’s missing. Who’s missing. 

“Sam, where’s my unicorn?” 

Sam opens his mouth, closes it, looks at Dean.

Dean looks away.

Meg’s mouth goes dry. No. She couldn’t have been brought back for another chance if he were dead. It wouldn’t be fair. Her heart lurches.

"Dean, where is Castiel?"


	3. Chapter 3

She doesn’t leave that night. It’s late, she’s tired. (Tired!) Besides, there is something in Dean’s eyes.

When she awakes she follows her nose to the kitchen. Dean is sitting at the table steaming cup in front of him. He gets up to make her a cup. Sam must still be sleeping. She must have said it out loud because Dean replies.

“He’s sleeps a lot now.”

And the floodgates open. Dean’s words come rushing out. It’s as if he’s afraid if he doesn’t hurry, he won’t get them out. Maybe he wouldn’t. Talking has never been a Winchester strength. He tells her everything. 

About the trials, the angels, Sam, Ezekiel, Castiel. 

“It’s always all for Sam isn’t it?”

Dean looks at her, stricken. 

“No wonder you Winchesters are so easy to entrap.”

His eyes narrow and he takes a step toward her.

She waves him off, “No need to get your panties in a bunch, just an observation from a former life.”

He sits back down. “What are you going to do now?”

“Find my unicorn.”

Silence. He’s trying to work out a way to tell her something, she can tell. She forces herself to not roll her eyes, to snap at him to get it out. Talking Dean is new and she wants him to stay. At least long enough to tell her what she needs to know.

“Maybe you should leave him alone.”

The silence stretches long and deep between them. 

Dean breaks first. She has more experience in being tortured. 

“He’s becoming human. He’s building a normal life. He has a job and an apartment. A-a girlfriend.”

The metaphorical penny drops. She can hear it clattering in the raw pain in Dean’s voice. The tight look in his eyes that isn’t all about Sam for once. She’s suddenly glad he’s coward, about emotions, about asking for what he actually wants. Because if he wasn’t, her second chance would have been for nothing . 

“Oh Dean, I’m so sorry.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not noble and self-sacrificing like you.”

“You died for him.” 

“And now I have been given another chance and I’m not selflessly giving him up because I think he might be happier without me.”

She stands, “I’m going to say goodbye to Sam.” She leaves him sitting at the table staring bleakly into his coffee.

She finds Sam’s room and knocks before just walking in. “I hope you’re decent. Or not. That might be a quick thrill.” She flips on the light and for a microsecond, Sam isn’t Sam. It’s gone before she blinks and she decides to let it be. 

“Meg,” his voice is scratchy with sleep and he looks tired. 

She sits on the bed. “You take care of your brother. He’s given up a lot for you, for everyone. I don’t want him hurt, but I’m not giving up my chance.”

“Ah, Cas.”

“You know?”

“Seriously? Meg, everyone knows.”

“Then why?”

“Dean’s not gay, he and Cas are just friends, he doesn’t do relationships, Cas deserves a chance at a normal life.”

She laughs, “Do you actually believe that?”

“No, but Dean does. Or thinks he does. Or pretends he does.”

“Well I’m not Dean.” She turns to leave.

“Good luck!”

“Thanks.”

She stalks him for a week before she makes a move. He’s a barista at a small coffee shop. She imagines he’s on the night shift because while each cup of coffee is perfect, he’s slow. He goes home alone each night to a small apartment. The girlfriend is not serious, not that it would have mattered. She’s never felt so right about something. She’s never wanted anything this badly. 

She finally knows it’s time. Her hand shakes as she knocks on his door. When he opens the door he stares at her. She stares back. Seconds pass, they feel like hours. 

“Hello Clarence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I snuck in a coffeeshop AU with a barista Castiel!


	4. Chapter 4

He takes a step back. She walks in past him. He closes the door, flicks his eyes at the door. He has the same warding as the Winchesters. He looks back at her. The silence is unbearable.

“Say something Castiel,” she begs.

Instead he reaches for her, pulls her body flush against his, crushes his lips to hers. “Meg, my Meg, my thorny beauty,” he murmurs between kisses, each word like a prayer.

She’s on fire, or maybe he’s burning her, it doesn’t matter, she wants, she needs more. She can’t get close enough to him.  Her hands burrow under his shirt trying to reach skin, he hisses as if burnt. He pulls her hands away as his mouth moves to her neck, and begins to pull her jacket off.  He’s mouthing her neck, biting, sucking, it’s going to leave a mark, she thinks faintly. He bites hard enough to hurt and heat pools between her legs. She moans his name, “Cas.”

Suddenly he’s walking her backwards, towards the bed at the back of the one room apartment.  As he unbuttons her shirt, undoes her bra, pushes her down as the back of her knees hit the side. She wants him to take off his shirt too but the words garble in her mouth as his reaches her nipple.  He’s lips and tongue and suction and oh god teeth. She hisses because it hurts and arches her back because it’s exquisite.  He moves to her other breast and in a flurry of movement undoes her jeans and reaches between her legs. She’s drenched.  He kisses his way up her body. “You are so wet, is that for me?” 

She pants, unable to speak because his fingers don’t stop moving. He’s relentless, watching her face until suddenly he seals his mouth to hers, swallowing her screams when it’s finally too much.  While she lays there shuddering he suddenly gets up and strips (finally!)  and kneels between her legs. She’s still dripping and he slips easily into her (virgin?) body but he’s large so she feels that good burnstretch and an ache deep inside when he sinks in to the hilt. He begins to move and they both moan. If her name was a prayer then what he does with his body is worship. Frankincense and myrrh, blood sacrifice and resurrection. She thinks he’s sobbing when he climaxes, she can’t tell over her own.

When she wakes, Castiel is pressed up behind her, arm around her waist. He’s hot and she’s sticky and as she wiggles around trying to get more comfortable his voice rumbles in her ear. “Don’t move.” He shifts behind her and she feels his erection pressing into her. She’s not as wet as she was and she’s sore and it hurts too much. She starts to struggle but he continues to press in, brings his other hand to her mouth presses his fingers between her teeth. He whispers in a broken voice, “Please please, let me.” He pushes all the way in and she bites down hard on his hand. As he begins to move her blood begins to burn and she realizes they need this too.  It’s not pretty. There’s biting and scratching and fighting for dominance. She thinks he chokes her, or she chokes him. The bed has moved and he shouts so loudly when he comes that the neighbors pound on the wall and they both laugh.

The next time she awakens it’s morning and she sees blue eyes staring down at her.

“What?”

“When I woke up I was convinced it was all a dream. A wonderful, horrible dream.”

She looks at him, his upper body littered with bruises, bites, and scratches. She pokes a big one.

“Ow!”

She smiles, “Nope, not a dream.”

He brushes her hair from her face, “How are you possible?”

She tells him.

When she’s done, he’s staring at her in wonderment and awe. He hugs her to him, begins kissing her face, she feels his tears on her cheeks, her lips. “You’re a miracle, my miracle, my father is still here, and he brought you to me.”

“Castiel, you don’t know that it was…”

He laughs. “While there might be angels and demons with the power to bring you out of hell, they wouldn’t have brought you back me whole and human. And they wouldn’t have thought to tell you that you were forgiven. Never.”

She feels her own tears start to fall and wipes them away. Stupid human emotions, post coital hormones no doubt. “And am I?”

“I’m the one who needs forgiveness, not you. I’ve done terrible things. I let you die for me.”

“And I was brought back, rescued, forgiven. For you. I think maybe we’re square. Maybe even with the big guy.”

He squeezes her tighter and they lay together quietly for a long time.

 

It’s been a long time since she was human and Castiel hasn’t been human for long. They make a lot of mistakes. They get frustrated with the mundaneness of every day existence, the neediness of their human bodies, so they fight. The neighbors even threaten to call the police on them once. Cas goes to work with a black eye and she spends the day putting ice on her twisted wrist. But sometimes when they come together it’s like the first night all over again and they remember.

It’s been a month and their lives have settled into a rhythm when she feels once again, it’s time.

When Castiel comes home from work, she sits him down and tells him about Sam and Dean.

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“It wasn’t time yet.” 

“How did you know?”

“I just did.”

He nods, he understands just knowing.

“Should we call to tell them we’re coming?”

“Nah, they’ll just lie and say everything’s fine.”

“Meg,” he looks at her, his eyes like the endless sky, “I fear our peace is about to end and we are about to be plunged back into the fray. Come lay with me, it may be the last chance we have like this.”

It’s slow and it’s easy, like the calm before a storm and they cling to each other all night.

 

 

In the morning as they are packing Castiel says something that sends a deep chill down to the marrow of her all too human bones.

“It’ll be good to see Dean again.”

Perhaps the look she throws him is too sharp.

“And Sam too,” he hurries, “they need our help.”

Or not sharp enough.

“Dean shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Heat prickles along her skin. Dean. Dean hasn’t seen Castiel in a while. Not this Castiel, not her Castiel. This Castiel is easy in his sun kissed skin and lean body from their morning runs. He’s shed his doughy accountant’s body along with his trench coat and tie. Dean hasn’t seen him in his snug jeans and his form fitting coffee shop tees. This Castiel isn’t mourning and ashamed, he’s atoning yes, but he’s confident. Dean hasn’t met this Castiel at all. But he’s going to know he’s hers.

With a growl she shoves their bags off the bed and onto the floor.

“Meg, what?”

She shuts him up with a fierce kiss that’s mostly teeth and tongue. She pushes him onto their bed. She’s overcome with the urge to mark him, mark him so everyone (Dean) can see and bites him high on the neck. His yelp turns to a moan when she soothes it with her tongue and begins to suck hard on his neck. When he flips her over she bares her neck in invitation and he laughs and does the same.  By the time they get their clothes off, they’re both panting and trying not to laugh. He slides into her with a smile against her lips and she smiles back as they fall into a steady and comfortable rhythm.

Later, as they redress, he pulls her close and looks directly into her eyes. Damn those eyes of his, they should come with a warning!

“I am yours you know. Completely.”

She flushes with embarrassment. She may have been a bit obvious.

“You had me at Clarence.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first published Supernatural fic. Thanks to [JillMarie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JillMarie) for stepping up to beta!


End file.
